


These Days Slip By

by clautchy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory, Religion, prayers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clautchy/pseuds/clautchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days tick by and Castiel listens to every prayer from Dean whilst in Purgatory, and for the first time he is unable to return the call. And it breaks him apart. /Set between S7-S8/</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Days Slip By

**Day 2**

The air was still yet the atmosphere never settled. There was always the sound of suspicion lurking within the forest; a pair of eyes watching from afar accompanied by the sudden snap of a twig on the ground. The scent of blood was fresh in the dank air mixed together with rotting carnage and damp moss. But he didn’t mind that.

 

It was the souls. He heard every soul, _felt_ them, knowing he had once harnessed and abused their energy for a cause that had spiralled out of control and because of it, he was in this very place, running for his life – for _Dean’s_ life. He sensed the hatred surrounding him, feeling despised by every creature who roamed the infinite forest of abomination and he would admit that he was scared. The Leviathan were tracking him down, adamant on severing his own wings and destroying his very being, vessel and all. And not only that, they wanted Dean, too. Running from Dean was Dean’s only chance at surviving. He was sure that Dean would cope.

 

**Day 4**

 

Castiel perched himself on a sturdy branch, surveying the surrounding area. Leviathan, somewhere, _definitely_ , but where, he wasn’t sure. The sky was a sheet of emptiness, lacking the shine of stars and the soft light of civilisation glowing in the horizon. Castiel squinted into the darkness, searching for movement while listening carefully to the breeze. All seemed quiet, but he knew better. He had to wait, be patient.

 

And then he stiffened, hearing a familiar voice, gravelly and tired, ringing in his ears.

 

 _Hey, Cas, you there?_ He gulped, and he tried to ignore the timid prayer. He had to protect Dean, not return to him simply because he was asked. _It’s bloody, man. I know you’re out there, somewhere. Look..._ Dean’s voice faltered and his attention had tuned in fully towards Dean. He bit his tongue, knowing he was unable to simply ignore Dean. He reminded himself he couldn’t answer Dean, but there was no harm in listening. Dean was never one to prattle on; a few more seconds and Castiel could return to his search for the Leviathan.

 

_Look, I just need you back. With me. I don’t care about what you did – I mean, I do, but not now. I get it. Whether you want to or not, I’m gonna find you, and we’re gonna bust ourselves out of here, okay? Just, don’t be... dead._

 

Cas stared into the inky night, feeling every fibre screaming at him to return to Dean but he couldn’t. He felt a pang of guilt ripping his chest open and he had forgotten about the Leviathan. He cared about the unwelcome hurt clawing at his heart and the uneasiness in his stomach caused purely by the fact that Dean had forgiven him. He thought he would be comforted to know that Dean simply wanted to be his friend – to be with him – once again, but he was anything but comforted; miserable and somewhat empty.

 

He hoped that that would be the last of Dean’s prayers.

 

**Day 5**

There was clawing and growling and a slash at his throat, a bite in his shoulder, a thump in his stomach. He lurched, keeling on the ground, defenceless and useless. Internally, he was laughing at himself: to think that he could last in the barren wastelands where he was hunted by every creature that roamed it? The animalistic beating had numbed, he didn’t particularly mind it so much anymore. He felt a chunk of hair being ripped from his scalp, sharp teeth scraping over his skin. Castiel closed his eyes, unafraid and surprisingly calm. He didn’t mind dying this way. In all honesty, he deserved the brutal attack. If it weren’t for him, the Leviathan never would have attempted to rule the world; they never would have found a taste for humanity and _never_ , would they have left Purgatory.

 

He would have let them kill him right there and then, until he heard it. Dean.

 

_Hey, Cas, uh, me again. I don’t know if you can hear me or not. I’m just gonna assume you’re low on angel mojo, and that’s why you’re not flyin’ right on back to me. You’re not dead. You can’t be._

 

Castiel’s chest pained again. But this time, instead of despair and guilt, he felt a new rising wave of hope. He had to stay alive so he could protect Dean. With one last surge of energy in his broken body, he threw off the Leviathan and grabbed the closest one, tearing off its head with an angelic force he thought he had lost.

 

_I’ve got a plan, buddy. I’ll find you. I’ll gank every bitch down here until I find you. I’m not givin’ up on you, Cas._

And that was all Castiel needed to hear. He couldn’t return Dean’s prayer, couldn’t reassure Dean that he was alive, but he could keep Dean safe. It was unlikely Dean would ever find him, but by that time, surely Dean would have found an escape route. Dean was smart – a lot smarter than most gave him credit for – and Castiel was confident Dean would find a portal. There had to be one, and it was Castiel’s duty that he gave Dean the time to find it.

 

He heard himself growling and leaped onto the oncoming Leviathan. He tasted metallic goo in his mouth, and the thick black substance dripped down his face and stained his clothes. He could feel the pain more acutely than he had ever felt before, but it was simply a reminder that he was doing it for Dean. He had to protect Dean, he _had to_.

 

**Day 12**

Leviathan were far more vicious in Purgatory, Castiel reasoned. They were also far more grotesque to look at: sharp teeth bulging off an incredibly wide mouth covering the majority of their craniums, forcing their small, beady eyes to the side – much like a fish, Castiel mused. Humanoid in structure, they all had talons branching from their six fingers like the shadow of a tree in a German impressionist film and bones stretched over dark, leathery skin. Most wore nothing but rags, made out of the large wolves and bears that stalked the forest, but some wore nothing at all. What Castiel found most unsettling about them was their legs, reminding him of a skinny dog standing on its hind legs. Their feet were more like a lion’s paws, large retractable claws ready to slash any threat that stood in its way.

 

Despite their disturbing appearance, the Leviathan were smart, and very capable of killing an angel; as easy as an angel smiting a demon. They plotted and manoeuvred through the forest, knowing their boundaries and the geography whereas Castiel improvised. He knew he would have to familiarise himself with the barren wastelands if he wanted to continue protecting Dean. By Dean’s second prayer, Castiel was adamant on ensuring he was always one step ahead in front of the Leviathan. He had to, otherwise it would be Dean that would be next. He may not be the angel he once was, but he considered Purgatory penance for his previous sins. Sacrificing his own safety for Dean’s was the least he could do to make up for what he did, something he still couldn’t quite come to terms with. To Castiel, that period remained a _something_ that was never uttered nor expanded upon. And if he could, he would do anything to reverse his course of action.

 

But because of Dean, he could cope. Dean wasn’t giving up on him. He was comforted by the idea, and was assured constantly by Dean’s prayers. Dean had been praying every night, and it was always to Castiel. Mostly, Dean continued asking where he was, beginning to _beg_ for Castiel to return.

 

Castiel was comforted by his prayers but at the same time, he had never felt more alone. He was forcing himself into ignoring Dean, the man he had _always_ answered and _always_ helped. It hurt. But the prayers were short, no longer than a few sentences and the pain would quickly subside.

 

It was a joke to think those prayers would never develop into something more.

 

 _Hey Cas, killed four shifters today, and a vampire. They don’t know where you are. I made sure of that. You know they’re tellin’ the truth when you’ve got their balls on the line, you know what I mean?_ Castiel certainly knew what Dean meant. Dean had avoided the word, but it was fairly obvious what Dean had been partaking in ensuring that each monster he approached was genuinely certain that it had no idea where the angel was: torture. That hurt even more, knowing Dean was doing the very thing he hated, the thing that broke him when he was in Hell to the point where he had lost belief in himself, to simply find _him_.

 

Castiel sighed, leaning against the peeling trunk of a rotting tree, listening to Dean. It would end soon. ‘I’ll find you, see you soon’, is what he expected, or a variant of.

 

 _Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’m just hopin’ I’ll find you soon. I know you’re out there, I can feel it in my gut. And I was thinkin’ about it all, you know, about what you did, but I sorta..._ Castiel heard Dean pause, trying to find the right words and how to say them, _I don’t know what I’m gettin’ at. I guess all I’m tryin’ to say is, if you’re not returnin’ my calls because you’re upset, if you still think what you did was bad, then I don’t care. I don’t care about that at all, man. I’m bustin’ my ass off trying to find you, and I mean, that’s saying something, right? I just wanna be with... Fuck, that sounded gay. Cas, buddy, you’re the closest thing I got beside Sammy and I’m never gonna let any bitch down here take you away from me._

 

Castiel realised, with mild shock, that his eyesight had blurred and his cheeks were damp. This wasn’t Dean’s usual prayer – this was from his heart. This was something that Dean never would have said and would have denied at all cost. Castiel felt a wave of nausea and winced, shutting his eyes tightly, and more tears fell down his face. _Crying_. He never felt more pathetically human and it was all because of Dean, but it only reaffirmed everything he needed to do. He needed to save Dean.

 

He wished he could run back to Dean. He wished he could fly back, hold him tightly and tell him that he was alright and that they were going to escape together. He almost considering praying himself, but what would that do? It was punishment for what he had done. Dean admitted his feelings, said explicitly, _I just wanna be with_... Castiel had a feeling that last word was _you_ , and he couldn’t agree more. He inhaled shakily, trying to remember Dean’s familiar scent of beer and leather, thinking of the way Dean would feel in a loving embrace. He’d think of Dean’s arms pinning him close to his chest, chin hooked over his shoulder and he would bury his face into Dean’s chest, holding his arms around his waist. That’s all Castiel wanted: to be able to hold the person that needed the most, and vice versa, the man Castiel wanted more than anything else.

 

**Day 33**

It was dusk and for once, quiet. He had spent so long fighting and planning and _running_. He was exhausted, and the sudden change was bliss. He crouched at the base of an overgrown tree, its roots serving as a somewhat comfortable seat, its moss preferable over sharp mulch and twigs. Castiel glanced down at his clothes: his white overalls were no longer white but a dark grey, stained with blood and dirt, and his trench coat – his beloved coat – that had withstood many years – appeared to have finally come to its end, with buttons missing, frayed edges, tears and colour wearing. It was disappointing, really, but all good things had an end.

 

Castiel yawned, feeling drained. He was confident enough to say that his grace was still intact, but for how long, he couldn’t be sure. He certainly didn’t feel powerful, and definitely not to the extent of what he had been only a year or so ago. To be frank, he had an inkling that his grace had lasted so long only because of Dean’s prayers. Every prayer was proof that he was still an angel of the Lord, even though he felt more like one angel, isolated and despised by his entire race – what was left of them, at least. He wondered how many were even left. He wondered if those that were left could ever forgive him for what he did. He assumed they hated him.

 

He glanced towards the sky that had been slowly edging into darkness. Castiel frowned, trying to imagine where the stars would be in the night sky if he were on earth. He pretended he was in the Balkans, further South, staring up into the crisp air like he was the only living being on the planet. He saw a mass of stars speckled across the satin blanket, the larger ones twinkling brightly while the moon cast an eerie, illuminated shadow over the forest, and brought a new-found light of shining silver.

 

Then reality and returned and he saw the bleak forest of Purgatory, a land of abominations. There was no shining moon and twinkling stars. There were monsters, and danger and fear. And of course, there was blood, and somewhere, far away, there was Dean, torturing information out of unknowing creatures, demanding Castiel’s whereabouts. Dean had kept him up to date, let him know of the many encounters he had with the strange and sometimes familiar monsters that lurked within the forest. He had heard of the desperation, of the fear, and most recently, the _purity_. Castiel was unsure of what Dean had meant when he first introduced the concept of purity in terms of a human. He knew what _divine_ purity was, as he had once been the very embodiment of such. Dean, on the other hand, was a flawed human. Purity was something Dean did not particularly associate with. Castiel had then learnt, over the next few prayers, that Dean was referring to the lifestyle he had been forced into in Purgatory. The black and white ideology. There were no shades of grey; it was either good or bad, life or death. He noticed how Dean had become more relaxed with the idea of torture; something that concerned Castiel deeply.

 

Castiel had no idea how long it would be before Dean gave up and tried looking for an escape, rather than him. Dean was betting on ten days, but it had been far longer than that and Dean had prayed to him, at least once a day, every day, with the same amount of confidence that Castiel was alive and that Dean was going to find him.

 

He knew Dean would pray to him, soon. He hadn’t prayed yet and night was falling.

 

Sure enough, Dean called.

 

 _Damn, Cas, you’d be the biggest bitch at hide an’ seek._ Castiel smiled slightly, but he heard a new tiredness from Dean. _I’ve officially lost count of my kills. No closer to finding you. Not one damn piece of shit knows where you are. At least it’s confirmed that there’s word of you. So I know you’re fine. I’ll find you, soon, Cas. It’s gonna be great. I know you’re just real busy right now, yeah? But once I find you, it’ll all be good, we’ll bust ourselves out of here together._

 

Castiel gulped, and the guilt returned. Despite the love in Dean’s prayers, they never failed in making Castiel feel considerably worse. His chest hurt the worst. He figured it was his vessel’s doing, but his heart ached with emotions he couldn’t put a label on. It was a mix of something sweet and something sad and something like longing. Dean wasn’t even near done, he could tell. It seemed his prayers had only gotten longer as the days went by.

 

 _You know... I was thinking of when we get out. Do you think Sammy knows where we are? He’s lookin’ for us, I know that. But all he saw was a flash of lightning and exploding Dick. What happens if he doesn’t even know we were in Purgatory?_ He heard Dean pause, reflecting over his musings. _I miss Sammy. I miss you enough as it is, but at least I know you’re with me here, somewhere. Shit, I sounded like I was in a shitty chick flick movie. Uh, but Sammy? I worry about him. Heh, hope he’s not sellin’ his soul off to get me back. But you know us Winchesters._ A beat. _You’re basically one of us_.

 

“Dean...” Castiel breathed, his voice cracked and breaking. He looked at his wrist, seeing the faded band that he had put on when he was in the mental institution:

 

DOB: AUG 20, 1974., SEX: MALE., WARD 6., WINCHESTER, CASTIEL.

 

He wasn’t sure how he was capable of doing it, but he was smiling, and the muscles in his cheeks ached from doing so. He wasn’t sure how humans did it. Why do they cry when they’re happy? Dean had called him _family_ , and he still meant it. Castiel was still family.

 

That was reason enough for Castiel to continue protecting Dean and hunting the Leviathan. Even if it meant breaking Dean’s heart by ignoring him, by disallowing Dean to find him, then so be it.

 

**Day 58**

Castiel still hated fighting, but he put up with it.

 

He tackled with the grotesque figure of a single Leviathan, pinning it to the ground with his legs while throwing punches at its stomach. It was most susceptible in the area. His weapon lay a few yards from him, knocked out of his hand from the surprise attack.

 

He snarled at the Leviathan, upper lip curling in a formidable fashion while the Leviathan cowered and whimpered, obviously not expecting its opponent to be so strong. Most do forget that angels were crafted as soldiers, and so Castiel considered himself rather good at fighting. He had become sloppy in Purgatory, generally feeling much more like a common mutt wrestling in the mud rather than a divine warrior of God. Well, he hadn’t felt like anything of God in a while. But he had comes to terms with that.

 

The Leviathan lost its focus – only briefly, but enough for Castiel to snap its neck. He reached for his blade – a makeshift piece of shit compared to his angel’s sword – and decapitated the creature, and black blood sprayed onto his face. He spat, taking the head and wrapping the neck in twine quickly. He wasn’t sure if it worked, but he figured by doing so, the two parts had less chance of reconnecting, considering Leviathan were damn hard to properly kill. It took less than a second to dispose of the head a good five hundred miles away, and returning back to the body, he made the gruesome process of cutting off its limbs, placing them far away from the torso too. If that wasn’t enough to stop a body from reforming, then he didn’t know what would.

 

He spat onto the ground, wiping the blood from his face with the frayed sleeve of his trench coat. The back of his hand brushed against his cheek and prickly hair stabbed him. Dean would probably have a crack at him if he saw the increasing amount of facial hair growing on him.

 

_Cas, buddy..._

 

“Appropriate,” Cas muttered, referring to the timing of Dean’s prayer. He frowned. Dean generally prayed a lot later, considering it had to be early afternoon judging by the amount of daylight. He listened anyway.

 

_Real good news. I... found our escape route. He says there’s a portal out of here. He says it’s for humans, but I reckon we’ll find a way for you, too. I don’t trust him, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, right? He’s a... hey, fuck off, I’m not doing anything!_

Castiel frowned, realising that Dean had been caught praying by whoever Dean had mentioned. He waited patiently, assuming Dean was walking away for more privacy, which he understood. He couldn’t help but be amused by Dean’s quick denial of praying.

 

 _Sorry, uh, shit, where was I? Uh, yeah, he’s gonna help me find you, then you and me both, we’ll get out._ He heard Dean sigh, used to Dean’s exhaustion. _You know, weirdly enough, I feel like I’m a kid again. Not in a hunter way, but lookin’ for you. There was this time when Sammy ran off – he had his reasons, not that I liked ‘em – but I was freakin’ out. Dad and me, we went through the whole damn town. I’m just convincing myself that Sammy’s fine while dad’s being calm, methodical and all. Me? Psh. Sammy’s fine but he’s probably dead. That kinda stuff. And here I am, convincing myself you’re fine but you’re not returning my prayers ‘cause you’re probably dead. And I really hope you’re not listening, ‘cause of I’ve probably said some stuff I’m gonna regret when we see each other again. Actually, when we’re back with Sammy... don’t mention any of my bullshit._

 

Castiel almost laughed, but again was met with guilt. He realised Dean was comforted by praying because he assumed he could say anything he wanted freely without anyone knowing. He was sure Dean thought Castiel couldn’t hear him. Well, of course Dean thought that, because Castiel usually returned Dean’s prayers.

 

 _Sorry, uh, went off on a tangent. Just thinkin’. Anyway, pretty sure Benny is gettin’ grouchy. Probably shouldn’t have ditched him. Hopefully, I find you soon. I know I will_.

 

So Benny was his name. Castiel hoped that Dean had made the right alliance in choosing to trust a creature of Purgatory.

 

Castiel noticed that Dean’s prayers had evolved. Dean would somehow incorporate something of when he was a kid into his prayers. Castiel enjoyed the story about Dean’s necklace, the very amulet he had used to search for God. Dean said he regretted throwing the amulet in the bin, but what Dean didn’t know is that Sam had taken the necklace out and kept it. Castiel had always been aware of this but knew it was not his place to say. Dean’s necklace would be returned when the time was right. And possibly, from the direction of his prayers, Dean would have the necklace back very soon, if he escaped Purgatory.

 

He wondered if Dean’s prayers would change again, knowing that now he had someone accompanying him. Dean had prayed freely, but would this new arrival force Dean into becoming self-conscious about what he was saying? Castiel enjoyed listening to Dean mostly because it had always been from his heart. It had been full of so much truth that Castiel rarely saw in Dean’s language. Dean had grown to lie and he even lied to himself to hide from his own feelings. Hearing Dean’s feelings, emotions, coming from Dean, and knowing that it was from the heart... It was relief as well as despair, considering some of the things Dean had mentioned were plain depressing _: Just being blunt, but sometimes – a lot of the time – I hate myself._ Castiel remembered that as clear as day. Dean had come far from after their first encounter, but Dean was certainly no role-model for confidence.

 

At least Dean could pray. At least he had belief.

 

**Day 86**

Dean still prayed. Castiel thought that the praying would cease, knowing he had someone there, but no. The prayers continued. And the things he heard...

 

Castiel had cried on numerous occasions. The desperation, the grief, the longing; sometimes it became too much for Castiel to bear. And today, was no exception. All he wanted was to return to Dean. But he had to have discipline, had to remind himself that he would only be harming Dean if he dared to return to Dean. He had accepted the fact that there was no hope in escape for him, but Dean had a chance. If Castiel went back to Dean, then Dean’s chance of survival would be minimised. And of course, Dean would hate him, because Dean would know that Castiel had purposely been ignoring him. Dean would feel humiliated, knowing he had poured his life and heart into prayers that Castiel heard every word of, and to Dean, it would look like even through all that, Castiel didn’t have heart enough to return to Dean.

 

So he stayed away. He searched out Leviathan. He always managed to stay one step ahead of them. He divided their paths and forced them away from Dean. He protected Dean.

 

_Hey Cas._

 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel answered to no one miserably, holding his knees closely to his chest in a squatting position.

 

_I miss you._

 

“I do, too.”

 

_And, I think, I shoulda known this before. I think I’ve known for a long time. I just gotta say it; fuck if it sounds gay, and it sure as hell does, but I don’t care anymore. It’s pretty clear, considerin’ I’ve got a ticket out yet I still wanna find you. And I know you wanna be found, but..._

Castiel listened closely, waiting for the punch line; another piece of his heart Dean was preparing to give away.

 

 _I love you_.

 

Castiel froze. Everything froze. Did he hear correctly? Of course he heard correctly. Dean had said them, loud and clear, to _him_. And he thought, when that moment came, he would be filled with joy, but the very opposite came.

 

He whimpered, and buried his face into his knees, trying to suppress his sobs. His face was sticky with tears. If he thought he had yearned to be back with Dean before, then now it was more so. His want was transferred into a need and he felt so human, crying his emotions out to bury the pain of ignoring the very man who _loved_ him. How could he be so selfish not to come back to that?

 

He didn’t hear the rest of Dean’s prayer. Dean didn’t say much, anyway. Something about shit food and good kills, concluded with an awkward goodbye. Castiel was unsure of how sane Dean was, considering that he was not entirely truthful with his prayer. But he knew it was the latter. He knew Dean meant every word.

 

And through his suppressed sobs, he was smiling.

 

“I love you too, Dean.”

 

**Day 159**

Dean prayed every night. Castiel never failed to listen. Dean spoke about his entire life. Dean talked about his first crush, his first kiss and his first experience. Dean talked about how his father had left him alone for weeks at a time to look after Sam, and how Sam had never failed in being one of the most troublesome kids to look after. Dean told Castiel about his fear of flying, planes in particular. Then Dean would mention old hobbies, the time John gave him the Impala, the time where a teacher caught him with a girl in the level five bathrooms. Dean said there was a mix of pride and shame when an authority figure caught you receiving head from the dux of the school.

 

Then, Dean would talk about how he felt. Dean never dwelt on the topic of love again. But he spoke of Sam, of how much he missed his dead family – Bobby, Ellen, Jo...  – and what Castiel always was interested in hearing, how Dean would dream of a better world where the monsters were nothing more than fairytales. Castiel was pleased to hear he was included in this alternate reality, and always around Dean. One time, Dean had mused that they would live together as flatmates. Castiel liked that.

 

Dean’s prayers served more as an escape to reality than comfort. Castiel indulged in every prayer, knowing that somewhere out there, he was being loved. Sometimes it seemed he was the most hated creature in the entire forest, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it were the same back in Heaven and Earth.

 

Dean didn’t talk about what was happening in Purgatory any more. Castiel wasn’t exactly sure what Dean had been up to, except for the fact that he was still searching for him. He had assured himself that would be impossible.

 

But once again, he had underestimated the eldest Winchester.

 

He washed his face, splashing the icy water in his face. It was refreshing.

 

He heard the snap of a twig, heavy footsteps.

 

“Cas...”

 

No other voice could be mistaken for the one syllable uttered. He knew exactly who it was. And in that, his chest ached and pained him. _No..._

 

Castiel stood up from his squatting position, “Dean.”

 

“Cas!” He had never seen a true smile like that on Dean’s face in so long, and Dean chuckled, not even hesitating to embrace Castiel tightly. He felt Dean’s arms wrap around him, and he knew he was supposed to return the gesture, but he balled up his fists, trying to block out the smell of familiar leather and dirt.

 

He thought Dean would never find him. He kept away from Dean to _protect_ him, and there Dean was, living and breathing, laughing and holding him because it was what he had been fighting for. And how it hurt. Castiel closed his eyes, momentarily, wishing he had never seen Dean. How was he supposed to leave Dean again?

 

“Damn it’s good to see you. Nice peach fuzz,” Dean quipped, poking at Castiel’s cheek before pulling away.

 

Same old Dean. “Thank you,” he glanced to both sides nervously, noticing how Dean’s smile hadn’t faded.

 

But it faded when Castiel admitted he ran away from Dean. It turned to anger when he admitted that he had heard all of Dean’s prayers. He saw Dean’s anger, and somehow, betrayal. He prayed because he thought no one could hear. Castiel had to make Dean understand, had to explain that he had reason.

 

“... And I’ve been trying to keep one step ahead of them to... to keep them away from you.”

 

Dean blinked and his face softened. He understood. And Castiel knew that he could never leave Dean again. He could run the first time, but a second time, with the truth lingering in the air? And it was only confirmed when Castiel saw every single one of Dean’s prayers summed up in one sentence:

 

“Cas, buddy, I need you.”

 

“Dean...”

 

“And if the Leviathan wanna take a shot at us, let ‘em. We gank those bitches once before, we can do it again.”

 

“It’s too dangerous.”

 

“Let me bottom line it for you. _I’m not leaving here without you_.”

 

Dean had meant every word in his prayers. Castiel could see that enough with the utter look of devotion, of _love_ , in his eyes, with that smile he was unable to control and the perfect inability to see how Dean could leave Castiel stranded in Purgatory.

 

“I understand.” 


End file.
